


Cause and Effect

by Alicethrutheburrows



Series: Fork in the road [3]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Dean needs to talk about his feelings, Established Castiel/Dean Winchester, Hurt!Cas, Hurt/Comfort, Journalist!Cas, M/M, Porn with plot sprinkles, Power Bottom Dean, Sassy Cas, Sex instead of using words, Warning there is flashback, Your basic mob violence, detective!dean
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-30
Updated: 2019-10-30
Packaged: 2021-01-12 23:23:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,574
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21234299
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alicethrutheburrows/pseuds/Alicethrutheburrows
Summary: Cause and Effect: the result following a choice through its consequences. Typically, compared to dominoes. One choice can have several consequences and even more unseen effects caused by said singular choice. Those unseen effects tended to lead to unforetold circumstances. In Cas’ case, one choice changed everything and for once had absolutely nothing to do with his current circumstances.The third installment in the Fork In the Road Series





	Cause and Effect

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! Welcome back, and if this is your first time know you do not have to read the first two stories to understand/read this story. Although, I do suggest reading them because I think they're neat. I would like to give a very very special shout to Callmekrowley for *sniffles* *sniffles* beta my work for me. They did a fantastic job and made this piece readable.
> 
> Also another very, very big thank you to Navajolovesdestiel for being my rock, my cheerleader, and my main man in the corner. Thank you for all of your support. If you haven't read any of their work, please do so they are literally fantastic. 
> 
> One last thing, *points off in the distance* if you have read my other two pieces, Patty the Plothole Paver and I did some work in this piece, so I hope you enjoy.
> 
> As always, follow me down this rabbit hole! XOXO, Alice

###  _Ropes or Chains?_

### 

Cause and Effect: the result following a choice through its consequences. Typically, compared to dominoes. One choice can have several consequences and even more unseen effects caused by said singular choice. Those unseen effects tended to lead to unforetold circumstances. In Cas’ case, one choice changed everything and for once had absolutely nothing to do with his current circumstances. 

This was annoying. Cas was beginning to wonder if he had an affinity for waking up chained up in less than savory places. The warehouse appeared to be abandoned and from the sounds of waves outside, near the docks. Scanning the room, three goons sat playing cards at a fold-out table—one large badly balding man (who could probably eat the other two for breakfast) and two smaller greasy looking idiots. Abandoned warehouse + ugly men in dark suits with too much gaudy jewelry + rope tied in Celtic knots = Definite Mob. 

The soft pounding in the back of his skull was a reminder of being knocked out from behind. Anymore concussions and he was seriously going to consult a doctor. Cas shifted his weight, pulling hard on his restraints to test their strength, but no luck. Could he be losing his touch? Twice now someone has gotten the upper hand, one time too many in his opinion.

“Good. You is awake.” Great, a heavy accent and onion breath. The soft pounding was going to turn into a full-blown headache at this rate. The large goon circled Cas, stopping face to face and leaning in close enough he could practically see the onion stench. Cas wrinkled his nose, the _I’m-tough-mob-guy attitude_ was bad enough, add stinky breath and ugh. Adjusting his wrists in the biting rope, Cas slipped on his best bitch face that he had picked up from Sam recently. 

“Now. We can do easy way, or we can do hard way.” If only Mr. Onion breath knew just how much Cas liked the hard way. He bit his tongue to keep from rolling his eyes. He never understood the need to act like the biggest, toughest guy in the room, then again Cas never did understand human behavior all that much. “Crowley wants the pictures.” 

Cas didn’t even bother hiding his eye roll this time. Of course, the biggest story of his career was in jeopardy. Nail a photo of the king of the underground Irish syndicate, and you expect a little blowback. What you don’t expect is for your asshat boss to leak details before publication. It wouldn’t be the first or the last time Michael disclosed a story to boost sales, and garner attention at the expense of others. Although most of the time when this happened Castiel was already hidden among the shadows again, lately he’s been more than a little distracted by a certain green-eyed detective. 

“I ask again.” Cas couldn’t help but wrinkle his nose as the man leaned even closer. “The pictures.” All he wanted to do was laugh. He’s seen scarier. Hell, the things he’s seen would make this guy piss himself, if not scar him for life. Sure, the mob was probably scary to the average human but to Cas they were more or less a hassle. Cas huffed in reply, maintaining his favorite bitch face. 

“Always act tough in beginning,” onion breath sneered. A quick and hard fist barreled into Cas’ abdomen. The first blow caught him off his guard. Ah, pain. Glorious, glorious pain. The second blow landed above his kidney. The third and fourth were wild punches. Cas tightened his abs and controlled his breathing, slipping into his headspace. He knew how to register and manage pain, a trick he learned in high school. Oh, high school. Even graduating a year early, the years were some of the worst, yet hidden amongst those god-awful years was the single most important moment (now second) of his life. His mind couldn’t help but supply the cheesy flashback. 

_The school needed a better janitor. The toilet smelled like it hadn’t been scrubbed since being installed and the water, the water just smells like ass. If he didn’t drown in the ass water, he was going to need at least five showers to scrub the grime off his face._

__

_Three key members of the football were shoving his face in and out of the locker room toilet, teaching him what a ‘swirly’ was. Cas took a deep breath mere seconds before being plunged back down into the water. Hopefully they just drowned him, it’d be better than listening to their annoying mocking voices throwing slurs and slang he wasn’t familiar with. He really needed to get out more, if he survived._

__

_They pulled him back up for air, his unruly hair sticking to his face. Their laughter was sickening. And honestly Cas wasn’t sure exactly what he did or how he ended up being their bully punching bag. He assumed it was because they had labeled him “weird,” but Cas never really understood normal either. What even made someone normal?_

__

_“Come the fuck on, I’m trying to take a piss,” a new voice echoed through the locker room._

__

_“Fuck you, Winchester,” one of the football players said. He was momentarily forgotten as the three moved out of the stall and towards the new threat. Cas wiped the wet hair out of his eyes to see a lanky, dirty blonde spiky-haired boy in an oversized leather jacket cornered by the three football players._

__

_Jacket boy had moves. Easily taking out the biggest boy with a swift throat punch, Jacket boy moved swiftly striking the other two boys each with a pop to the nose. Cas had to hand it to this Winchester kid, he had no fear, and with dirty way he fought, he probably didn’t need it._

__

_The idiots stumbled out of the locker with two bloody noses, and three bruised egos. Cas waited a beat, standing and moving out of the stall only after hearing the door open then close. Winchester didn’t bat an eye at him as he moved towards the sink area for some paper towels. _

__

_Cas wiped the water from his face and arms. Was he supposed to say thank you in this situation?_

__

_“I didn’t need saving.” Not the thing he wanted to say, but it flew out of his mouth._

__

_“I’m no hero, buddy,” Winchester said, turning his eyes on Cas for the first time. Wow, Jacket boy was beautiful? Yes, he was indeed just stunning. “Are you okay?” He said, running a hand through his hair, his eyes soft._

__

_Great. The last thing he wanted was pity. Cas scoffed. “I don’t need your pity.” He leaned against the sink crossing his arms._

__

_“Dude, I don’t pity you.” They locked eyes. “I have a brother your age, he could kick your ass and easily would have kicked those douches’ asses.” Both refused to break the stare. “You could have too, with a little effort.”_

__

_“A little effort?”_

__

_“Yes. Look, you have to say enough is enough. This is the real world and unless you put some effort into learning either to defend yourself or speaking out, this…” Jacket boy gestured vaguely towards the stall. “This will be your life, so fucking get your shit together.”_

__

_Cas appreciated honesty, and although he was a bit abrasive, Jacket boy was leveling with him. “I guess I’ll have to ‘get my shit together’ as you say,” Cas said, using the appropriate air-quote. Winchester gave him a genuine smile, causing a small palpitation in Cas’ heart. Weird._

__

_“Good, and dude, you need a shower, you smell like ass,” Jacket boy said, pinching his nose to emphasize his point._

__

_Rolling his eyes, Cas stated, “You’re an asshole.”_

__

_“And don’t you forget it.” Jacket boy winked then left Cas standing there alone in the locker room. Winchester. He wondered if Winchester had a hot first name to accompany the feisty attitude._

__

_It started as simple admiration that turned into a crush then snowballed right into obsession. Dean. Jacket’s first name was Dean and Cas was intrigued. Dean Winchester: born January 24, enjoys classic rock, Dad is a beat cop at the local police station, oddly lives at a motel, wears too much plaid, and is a complete mystery. The small amount of information Cas had gathered only enticed him more to continue to learn about the strange boy from the bathroom. Black and white photos of Dean littered Cas’ bedroom but his favorite--a black and white of Dean with face basking in the sun with his eyes closed--he kept on his person. A token reminder to always put in a little effort._

A punch to the mouth abruptly ended Cas’ trip down memory lane. His lip was definitely split, and the coppery taste of blood filled his mouth. Onion breath must have gotten tired of the lack of response. Cas refocused his attention, squinting his eyes at his assailant as the man rubbed at his near-bleeding knuckles. 

“I’ll beat you black and blue.” Ugh, this guy really needed a lesson in interrogation. Cas gave him a pointed stare, boring his blue eyes into the other man’s.

Blood splattered spectacularly on the goon’s face when Cas spit at him. Darting his tongue out to lick the crimson droplets from his lips, Cas smirked ruefully at the man’s obvious disgust. “I’m not afraid of you.” 

Onion breath wiped at his face, throwing Cas a hateful stare. “You will be.” He pressed in closed and sneered, “I will cut your pretty face from your body.”

“Pity, my boyfriend quite likes my face, he’d be upset if it was ruined.” Cas didn’t dare break the stare as he deadpanned, “And if I were you, I’d be afraid to upset him.”

The goon looked only slightly taken aback by Cas’ threat, although Cas was not really threatening, he was merely stating the facts. Onion breath scoffed. “I kill you then kill your boyfriend.”

“Better hurry then,” Cas baited.

“Give me the pictures!”

“No.” The reply earned him another quick shot to the abdomen. Cas couldn’t help but laugh at the growing anger of the mobster. He threw his head back laughing between pants of breath, only turning his attention back to the goon after another punch to the ribs. He smiled, “You better kill me soon cause my boyfriend _ will_ come for me and you better pray he comes in a professional capacity or—”

The sentence died on Cas’ tongue as a loud bang and shout came from the left side of the building. Both men turned head towards the sound then back towards each other. Cas swept his tongue across the front of his teeth, not bothering to hide his smile. “Too late.”

Another shout rang through the building. The goon turned to signal at the smaller idiots sitting at the table, both reaching into their waistbands to produce guns. 

A few rounds echoed against the walls, followed by a familiar voice that always managed to make Cas’ heart pound. “Hey sweetheart, are you doing okay over there?” 

Cas couldn’t see Dean, for he was no doubt hiding behind one of the shipping containers on left-hand side. Cas hollered back, “Be better if you hurried up.” 

The smaller two idiots stood up; guns aimed in Dean’s general direction. Both dropped like flies in an instant, one with a bullet between the eyes and the other a bullet in the chest. An action movie. The scene reminded Cas of those cheesy action movies Dean insisted on watching. Dean stepped out from behind the container like some badass action hero, absolutely fearless, firing four rapid shots, striking the three mobsters in three blinks of an eye. Cas half wondered if some random explosion would go off suddenly behind Dean just to add dramatic effect to the whole rescue. 

The other two shots shattered Onion breath’s knees. Cas always loved when a saying came together—the bigger they are, the harder they fall. Watching the goon hit the ground in a slump was immensely satisfying.

Cas flicked his eyes from the bleeding hooligan up to meet Dean’s emerald eyes. “Hello, Dean.”

“Heya, Cas.” Dean touched his split lip with a feather light touch, eyes roaming over Cas’ body checking for anymore obvious injuries. “You didn’t answer your phone.”

“Oh, I’m sorry. I was a little tied up at the office.” Cas tried to shrug, shifting his weight underneath Dean’s gaze. All these months and the man still made him bold yet nervous. 

“I think you need to reevaluate your office hours.” Dean’s eyes softened as he holstered his gun on his hip. 

Cas tilted his head. What was Dean trying to say? “What?” Cas said as Dean reached into his boot to produce a knife. 

Dean looked Cas straight in the eyes. “Babe, your job is getting a little on the dangerous side don’t ya’ think?”

Cas scoffed. “Says the detective with a murder basement.”

Dean looked honestly offended. “Now you have a problem with the basement?”

“Cut me down, Dean.” Dean cut Cas’ ties; his arms tingled from the sudden rush of returning blood flow. He rubbed at the red marks on his wrist, then glanced at Dean’s pouty face. “No, I don’t have a problem with the basement.” He said, not bothering to contain his eye-roll. 

“Oh, like you didn’t have a problem with the couch? Or like you didn’t have a problem with peanut-butter and jelly sandwiches last night?” Dean’s voice was becoming borderline-frantic.

“I told you that the sandwiches taste like molecules to me.”

“Molecules, like some knock-off Bill Nye the science guy!”

The childish outburst wasn’t out of character for Dean, they tended to bicker over little things.

Cas huffed. “You’re acting like a child.”

“Oh, I’m acting like a child?” Dean placed a hand on his chest, sticking out his bottom lip mockingly as he moved towards one of the smaller bodies. “Did I even get a thank you for saving your ass?” Dean pulled out his gun from his hip holster. “Noooooooo,” he said, the word drawn out and exaggerated as Dean clicked the safety off. Hot casings clattered on the ground as round after round filled the poor guy until the entire clip was unloaded. 

Cas didn’t understand Dean’s misplaced anger, and he was not amused with childish antics. “Feel better?”

“Nope,” Dean said, turning his attention to Onion breath, who was trying to army-crawl his way to the exit, leaving two blood trails in his wake. Dean narrowed his eyes; Cas could tell he was shifting into his predator mode. 

“You better call Charlie and see how much time we have,” Dean commented, holstering his gun and reaching for his knife again. 

“You better check your attitude,” Cas said as Dean shoved his phone into Cas’ hand. Dean huffed, his eyes throwing daggers at Cas, before stalking on towards his prey. Cas shook his head while dialing Charlie. Dean didn’t do “feelings,” as the man himself put it, but right about now it’d be nice if he did. At least then Cas would have a clue as to why Dean was acting this way. 

The line rang twice before filling with Charlie’s bouncy voice. “Oh my god, Dean! Did you find him? Is he okay? What happened? Dean I know you were—”

“Charlie, I admire your enthusiasm. I’m fine, thank you,” Cas said, cutting off Charlie’s ranting. 

Cas could hear an audible sigh of relief on the other end. “Thank goodness, Dean was worried about you.” 

“Charlie, we need a favor.” Cas admired the sentiment, but they really didn’t have time for dramatics. “Can you tap into the police station chatter and see if they caught wind of any action near some shipping docks?”

“Yes, totally yes. Let me just work my wizardry here.” The line was silent for a moment, except for the clacking of keys. “Nothing’s been reported at this moment, so I’ll make sure to buy you some time, but if I were you, I’d be out in twenty minutes.”

“Thanks Charlie, we owe you one.”

“Always! Now put a wiggle in it.” The line clicked and went dead. Twenty minutes, they could work with that. 

“Charlie bought us twenty minutes, Dean,” Cas hollered, pocketing the phone and walking towards the empty shell casings. The scattered casing were a waste, a hassle, and a downright mess. He shook his head as he shoved all the metal into his pocket. Standing up, Cas pivoted to see how Dean was coming along. 

Dean had shoved his knife into Onion breath’s funny bone, surely whispering all the ways he could hurt him given the time. The ulnar nerve is one of the most sensitive in the body, it travels down the arm to the tips of the fingers and is one of Dean’s favorites to manipulate. The extreme pressure from the knife was probably lighting up every nerve in the goon’s body as tears flowed freely down his face. Dean twisted the knife ever so slowly, still whispering in the man’s ear. Cas crossed his arms, watching the scene unfold. The man’s pants darkened, and a sinister smile played across Dean’s lips as he removed the knife from the goon’s elbow and plunged it deep into his chest. 

“Time?” Dean called out, watching the last bit of life drain from the other man’s face before standing up from his squatting position and pulling his knife out like Arthur pulled the sword from the stone. To be fair, in Cas’ opinion Dean looked more kingly than any knight dreamed to be. 

Cas checked the time on the phone in his pocket. “I say we have about ten minutes.”

Dean nodded, wiping his blade on his jeans then shoving it back inside his boot. He inclined his head towards the body. “Wanna help me move this?” 

Cas got with program, helping Dean move the oversized mobster, only wincing slightly when bearing his share of the weight of the dead body. Fuck, he forgot about his bruises. Dean threw Cas a glance, a question written on his features. Cas sighed; they didn’t have time for him to try to dissect Dean’s question or the reason for his attitude nor did they have time for the dead douche to be bleeding all over Castiel’s shirt.

“Dean, he’s bleeding on my shirt.”

“Like you let that guy bleed all over the couch?” Dean countered. 

“For the last time, we both know that hideous thing needed to go,”

“Whatever you say, champ,” Dean mumbled. 

“Dean—” Cas began to chastise. 

“Look, we’ll talk about all this when we get home, is that good with you?”

“Yes, but—”

“Good.” Cas’ sigh accompanied a heavy eye-roll, there was no arguing when Dean made up his mind.

They heaved the body in between the other two, wiping prints from the guns and switching them amongst the idiots. Better to cover their tracks and make it look like a mob hit gone wrong. More likely than not Dean would be working the case when it was eventually called in.

Cas leaned his head against the back of the seat of the Impala, thinking about how Michael was going to get his ass ripped from China to Alaska--that is, if Cas doesn’t throw him in Dean’s basement for the shit that went down tonight. But right now, all that sounded good was a hot shower and Dean’s memory foam. Cas caught Dean staring at him out of the corner of his eye and giving him a small smile, he closed his eyes and settled in. They tore out of the parking lot, the sound of police sirens fading in the background as they headed for home. 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Cas sat on the edge of the bed as Dean fawned over him, cataloguing every black and blue bruise on his body. Cas brushed off the attention with a mumbled I’m fine, but Dean insisted on an ice pack for the bruise on his kidney area and treating the spilt on his lip. 

Dean’s eyes were serious as he poured some rubbing alcohol on a cotton ball. A rare shy smile pulled at his lips as he moved towards Cas. “I used to tell knock-knock jokes whenever I treated Sammy’s wounds.” Cas quirked an eyebrow at him. “Knock-knock.” Cas sat silent. “Come on, Cas,”

The look on Dean face defeated Cas in an instant. He never could say no to Dean. “Who’s the—OW, FUCK!” 

Dean chuckled triumphantly as he pressed the cotton against Cas’ lip. “Still got it,” he smiled. “Quit being a baby.” Cas mumbled a soft fuck you which only amused Dean more. Dean dabbed at his lip a few more times before he was finally satisfied. Dean turned around to throw the cotton ball in the trash, running a hand through his hair once, twice, three times. Ah, a tell-tale sign whatever Dean was going to say was not going to be good. 

Cas waited. He let Dean collect his words and thoughts together. The one thing he had learned from being together these past few months was that it was better to wait Dean out. Although, Dean was rather guarded when it pertained to his “feelings” but if Cas waited long enough, he would spill the corn—or was it beans?—eventually. Waiting tended to be his specialty; understanding Dean on this new level of their relationship however, not so much. Dean was still ever the contradiction, a puzzle he’d gladly spend his whole life trying to solve. 

Dean flicked his eyes up to bore into Cas’. Mind made up, Dean covered the distance between them, bending down to press his forehead against Cas’. A hand slid into the base of Cas hair, fingernails digging in lightly. 

“Cas,” Dean breathed his name out like a soft prayer, pressing against him a little harder. Cas brought his hands up to trace soothing lines up and down Dean’s arms. Cas swallowed, slightly afraid to move, afraid to spook Dean out of the smidgen of vulnerability he was displaying. Tracing lines bled into tracing circles on Dean’s back, trying to corral the man deeper into his arms. 

Dean exhaled slowly, clacking his tongue in effort to push out words. “Tonight… when you didn’t answer your phone… I… fuck… fuck,” Dean cursed, Cas assumed mostly to himself. 

“Dean,” Cas kept his voice soft, reassuring, “I always come when you call, tonight was an unfortunate unforeseeable event.”

“Jesus Cas,” Dean said, bringing his other hand up to cup Cas’ cheek, ghosting lightly over his stubble. “You act like you weren’t just kidnapped and almost killed by the Irish mob. I thought… I thought—” Dean’s phone vibrated in his pocket. Dean fisted Cas’ hair a bit tighter before releasing and stepping out of Cas’ space altogether, the moment broken. 

Dean exchanged heated words with more than likely Benny, Dean’s partner, on the phone. Cas tried not to pry, the throbbing pain from his blooming bruises occupied his attention plenty. After ending his phone call, Dean turned to look at Cas and his face said it all. Dean had been called to investigate the homicide down near the docks. An anonymous tip led police to the scene. Charlie had been on the nose with her timing it seemed. 

Dean wagged a finger in his direction. “We are not done talking about this.”

Cas wanted to laugh, Dean’s fumbling was less coherent words and more like trying to play charades with your eyes closed. But he needed Dean to understand one thing. Their relationship worked because they understood each other on a fundamental level, and he needed Dean to be on the same page as him.

Cas huffed at Dean’s finger, narrowing his eyes. “I’m not going to quit my job, Dean.”

“Of course not, you just enjoy putting yourself in harm’s way like a dumbass.”

“I call it job experience, less dumb, less ass,” Cas said, tilting his chin up, daring Dean to challenge him. 

Dean put a hand over his face in an attempt to cover his laugh. “Okay, okay, I’m not asking you to quit, Cas, hell I don’t ever want you to change.” Dean moved to cup Cas’ face in his hands. “I just thought,” Dean licked his lips, “I… I thought, I need—” Dean words died on his tongue as Dean’s phone vibrated in his pocket again, causing Dean to sigh heavily. “Be more careful okay? Get some rest, it’s going to be a long night for me, talk when I get home, okay?” Dean pressed a kiss to Cas’ forehead then he was reaching into his pocket to answer his call before exiting the bedroom with a small wave and a cheesy wink. 

Crawling up to rest his head on the pillows, Cas waited for the fading sound of rumble as sleep started to beckon him. The adrenaline had long worn off, nothing but bruises, throbbing, and aches were left. Easing slowly into the warmth of the covers, he let out a pained breath, attempting to find a comfortable sleeping position for his injuries. Once finally settled, the nothingness of sleep greeted him like an old friend. 

Cas felt Dean’s presence far before he felt the edge of the bed dip. Maybe he was crazy for thinking so, but Castiel swore that he and Dean shared a more profound bond. He hummed at the feeling Dean’s fingertips brushing back the few stray hairs that had fallen in his face. Cas awoke slowly as Dean’s fingertips turned light brushes into light touches into soft presses. From his hair down his cheek ghosting over his stubble, fingers found their destination pressing firm along the column of Cas’ neck. 

Fingers trailed back to drag a thumb across Cas’ bottom split lip, tugging gently. He blinked his eyes open, regretting stretching mid-way through when pain bombarded him. Dean was frowning at him, removing his hand from his lips to gently push Cas on the chest, a silent command to stay still. 

“Hey,” Dean said, eyes roaming over Cas’ face. 

Cas hummed, grabbing onto Dean’s wrist. Yes, he was beaten but he wasn’t broken. The bruises would heal. Cas tugged on Dean’s wrist to bring it to his face so he could place a kiss to Dean’s palm. He nuzzled at Dean’s hand, only meeting Dean’s eyes after several more butterfly kisses were placed. “How did it go?”

Dean blew out a breath. The scene of the crime had been messy, none of the pieces would add up. Cas had faith though, whatever story Dean managed to conjure would never lead to Cas, or more importantly, Dean himself. Perhaps Cas wasn’t the only one losing his touch. Dean was meticulous, calculated, and above all he was methodical, yet he threw all that out the window to action-hero his way to Cas’ rescue. Pressing his face into Dean’s hand, Cas had to ponder if this feeling was what artist, poets, and writers spent all their time trying to capture. 

Dean smiled at Cas’ ministrations, lightly scratching at Cas’ scruff. “It was messy,”

Damn, Dean was going to have to quit making Cas laugh because it hurt, but despite the pain, Cas couldn’t help chuckling. “Who’s fault is that, I wonder?” Dean’s shy smile was worth every labored breath. “Do you want to finish that conversation we started?” Cas asked. 

Dean worried his bottom lip between his teeth. “Nope,” Dean said as he crawled further onto the bed in order to straddle Cas between his thighs, mindful of Cas’ bruises as he settled himself down on Cas’ lap. 

Cas gingerly sat up, careful not to jostle Dean or his bruises. He ran soothing hands up and down Dean’s back, noticing Dean was freshly showered from the residue red twinge of his freckled skin. They should talk about tonight, even if it meant tossing Dean off him. “Dean—” Cas had started, but his words were swallowed by the urgent press of Dean’s lips. So much for talking. Cas groaned as Dean pulled him closer and licked his way into Cas’ mouth. 

Dean pulled back, a fire gleaming in his eyes. He took Cas’ face in his hands and stared down at him, speaking with utter certainty, “I want you to fuck me.” This was a dream, or perhaps he greeted death in his sleep, for surely the words that just left Dean’s mouth weren’t his own. 

The chuckle from Dean must have been from Cas’ shell-shocked look upon his face. Dean licked his lips before leaning down to whisper, “Don’t worry, I got you.” Cas swallowed, nodding rapidly at Dean’s words while clutching the man’s beautiful ass in his lap. The urgency returned tenfold. 

Clothes were taken off with haste in between hot open-mouthed kisses and nibbles, the covers on the bed long discarded. A condom wrapper joined the growing pile of discarded items, and the final item, added like a cherry on top of a sundae, was a bottle of lube. 

As Dean lowered himself on Cas’ awaiting cock, Cas realized Dean was trying to convey what he couldn’t form into words earlier. Why say it with words when you could say it with flesh? Cas’ breath was punched out of his lungs when Dean was fully seated, pressing his forehead against Cas’. 

While Cas was buried deep inside Dean, Dean was clearly the one in charge. Dean vice-gripped the small strands of hair the base of Cas’ neck and rolled his hips slowly. As Dean impaled himself on Cas’ cock, moans, curses, and even Cas’ name graced Dean’s lips. The silent words and pleas were pressed into Cas’ skin. The _I was so worried you idiot_, and the _you had me scared shitless_ were pressed to his mouth. The _I’d burn the entire world looking for you_, and the _I need you, you fucking dumbass_ were pressed against his pulse point. The three most silent words were swallowed around a gasping moan.

Cas anchored his hands onto Dean’s hips, digging his heels into the mattress to gain some leverage. He pistoned his hips up, meeting Dean’s downward thrusts, walking the fine line between pleasure and pain. Both men lost themselves in the rhythm of each other’s pleasure. Another solid rock down had Dean gasping a broken string of curse words, the beautiful sight of Dean falling apart at the seams would forever be a mental snapshot in Cas’ mind. 

Dean splayed his hand against Cas’ chest when Cas’ grunted in warning, “Dean… Dean, I’m so close.” Dean sucked his bottom lip between his teeth, doubling down his effort. Cas threw his head back into the pillow, blindly reaching out for Dean’s neglected cock, letting the world narrow down to everything Dean—Dean’s moans, gasps, curses, and beautiful leaking erection. 

“Dean,” Cas growled, hips stuttering as he filled the condom.  


“Cas,” Dean hoarsely whispered while Cas’ crafty hands stroked him to completion. White, hot ropes covered the space between them, a tiny bit hitting Castiel in the chin. Dean rolled off of Cas carefully, and onto the bed. 

“Always on the face,” Cas teased, swiping some of Dean’s spend off his chin. 

“Oh yeah?” Dean mused, smacking Cas in the ribs and instantly regretting it when Cas winced. “Shit. Sorry babe,”

“You’ll be the death of me yet,” Cas croaked out, throwing a hand over his face. 

“Cas.” Dean’s voice sounded tight. Cas turned towards Dean peeking one eye out from underneath his hand. Vulnerability was etched into Dean’s features. 

“Dean?” Cas questioned, reaching out to cup his face. 

“No one is allowed to kill you, okay?” 

Cas took a beat, soaking in Dean’s words, trying to read the meaning in between the lines. “Okay,” he said, pressing a kiss to Dean’s furrowed brow. “Shower?”

Dean smiled. “Hell yes, you’re super sticky.” Cas laughed, then winced. Dean really was going to be the death of him yet. The shower felt amazing, as did Dean’s soothing touches against his injuries. 

Dean drew soft circles into Cas’ back as they huddled down into the warmth of the covers. Cas hummed.

“Something on your mind?” Dean said, pulling Cas a little closer into his arms.

“Just thinking.” 

“About?” Dean peered down at the lump of Cas in his arms. 

“How I finally got my shit together,” Cas smiled. 

_Two weeks, three days, six hours later_

The building had a perfect vantage point of the local police station. With a little help from Charlie and some solid detective work on Dean’s end, Dean managed to trace that anonymous tip back to the source. A certain nameless journalist was able to provide concrete photographic evidence on shady business dealings made by one Crowley Mcleod, mostly commonly known as the Irish King of Hell. 

Dean angled his chin up as he hauled Crowley out of the police car and towards the station. Having developed an almost sixth-sense for Cas’ lurking camera, Dean paraded his famous Winchester grin.Cas scrolled through his camera roll, admiring how Dean managed to never take a bad photo, how he was always male model ready. Scrolling further back, seeing the older photos felt like following a trail of breadcrumbs, or it was like watching the fall of one domino into a string of dominos in reverse. Watching the effects one choice, and a series of following consequences, could cause, Cas decided he would gladly knock that domino over again and again.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading! This work was a lot of fun to write, and took me a bit longer to get right. I hope it made you laugh, and smile because knowing you are reading this means you made it through which makes me smile. Leave nice comments/laughs/smiles below!
> 
> Love, Alice


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